Even though you don’t face the painter
he captures your face.
Heraclitus asked, how can you hide
from what never goes away?
Mirror Neurons; Unity of Opposites; Nocturne with Flame; Aubade with Leftover Snow, Ode to Mayo Jars
On Why Teen Poetry Should Come with a Self-Destruct Button
Poetry became real to me not through the classics, but through my contemporaries in a college workshop.
The Emissary
The scrambling section required concentration, and so Jonathan and Ben didn’t say very much to each other before finally making it to the blustery overlook. Jonathan zipped up his fleece jacket and looked out at the small islands dotting the cerulean Norwegian sea. On one of the closer islands, two small bright red houses perched on stilts above the rocks in the dissipating fog. Ben’s yellow windbreaker obviously wasn’t warm enough and his shoulders hunched forward in the wind. Did he even notice how beautiful it was here?
Untitled
Spill out your excuses, your secrets, your lies. Crack open your ribs slowly, one at a time. Allow enough room to let me inside.
Love: How I Became a Writer
Perhaps it was because of Jerry Harrison that I became a writer. Harrison (of Talking Heads fame) once attended a party at my home, where he feverishly examined the shelves of books that lined my childhood bedroom.
"What's your major?" He didn't look at me when he asked but continued to let his fingers linger over each book's title.
Yes, Virginia?
Suzanne shakes her head, says, “When the building comes tumbling down, does it really matter if you’re trapped on the first or the fortieth floor?”